


Mom

by strxwberrii



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Child Frisk (Undertale), Child Neglect, Childhood Memories, Family, Family Fluff, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Found Family, Frisk (Undertale) Has Issues, Frisk (Undertale) Needs a Hug, Gen, Gender-Neutral Frisk (Undertale), Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Frisk (Undertale), Goat Mom Is Best Mom (Undertale), Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mother-Child Relationship, Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), One Shot, Parent Death, Parent Toriel (Undertale), Parent-Child Relationship, Selectively Mute Frisk (Undertale), Short & Sweet, Verbal Frisk (Undertale), the implied death isn't frisk or toriel don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27803350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strxwberrii/pseuds/strxwberrii
Summary: Frisk can count the number of times they said the word on two hands.Frisk can count the people they called the word on one hand.They actually didn’t say the word out loud as much as it seemed- they didn’t speak often enough in the first place, after all. But when their throat pushed out the three-lettered word, sounding so light and unused and new, their soul had the tugging feeling that this time… this time... the word would be able to stick around.---AKA; the four times Frisk has called someone some variation of Mom
Relationships: Frisk & Toriel (Undertale), No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Mom

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! This here is my first attempt at fanfiction ever! This isn't beta'd or anything, so I do hope not too many mistakes were made.
> 
> It's just a little ficlet about Frisk and my headcanon of their relationship with the word Mom. 
> 
> anywhoooo, I hope you enjoy :)

They must have called her mom first.

It would be logical to assume this woman was first. She was the one who raised them the first three years of their life, after all.

But they must admit… they actually remember very little of the woman that gave birth to them, if anything at all. From what Frisk can recall though, was that she must have been a good person. A good person that existed in their mind as only hues of soft brown skin that would hold them as they were fed, with a head of darker brown hair that would often spill out of the ponytail she typically had it in. Thick hair that they can just barely remember grabbing onto and pulling towards them whenever attention was demanded of the tired young woman.

Frisk assumes that she either ignored the stinging pull every time they did it, the toddler unknowing of the weak pain they caused, or that all moms were just made to be more resilient than normal people.

They think it might be the latter.

The last time they ever saw her, was when her face that was much like their own was squished against the cold kitchen tile. The woman’s dark right cheek blotched with even darker shades of purple, brown, red, and blue.

Those colours would be such a pretty mix if it weren’t on her cheek. If it weren’t on her at all.

Frisk has a difficult time describing certain things, especially things that were as complex as your own mother shouting and collapsing in the kitchen when you were three years old, or things that happened so long ago that Frisk was not old enough to speak in coherent speech. So the best way they would describe the memories of this event, the memories of their birth mother in general, would be…

Sandy.

Shifty and fuzzy. Like small grainy pieces that have slipped through their grubby fingers over the few years of their life.

They don’t know how long their diapered bottom sat beside the unmoving woman, but they do remember the tension they felt on their forehead from their thinly narrowed eyebrows. Frisk does remember grabbing her top eyelid by the eyelashes, between their small thumb and pointer finger. Slowly pulling it up, confused as to why she isn’t waking up from her sudden nap now that her eye was opened.

People with open eyes should be people that are awake.

This was further confusing the toddler.

Seeing as she was still asleep, they opened their mouth to let out a quiet sound that echoed throughout the cold and damp kitchen. The smell of the dropped applesauce near them lingering in the air.

“Mah… Mama?”

Frisk never was a fan of using their voice.

* * *

Bouncing around from home to home, they didn’t quite catch all the names they have heard throughout the years.

There were simply too many, their vast collection of foster parents and siblings containing far too many people for them to keep track of. Especially when it came to how often they were switched out of homes, the times they were sent back.

The times they were sent away.

Although they can likely remember most of the homes they had stayed in, names were once again, difficult to keep a hold of. The ones they did remember could be divided into two categories. There were names that blanketed the child in kindness, love, and security. And there were names that would rip that blanket off of their body before tearing the thin fabric into scattered pieces. Frisk then being the responsible one to have to clean up the mess on the floor.

Frisk often liked to explore the houses they were sent to.

Childlike curiosity leading them to end up in the oddest of places. From climbing atop the box-like television so they can touch the painting on the wall, to the dust bunnies underneath the couch they crawled under making their nose twitch twice before they sneezed.

They always had great fun in discovering the environment of these new houses. Wanting to know the crevices, paint peels, and cracks of every corner, wanting to know every secret of the homes they turned into their own personal playgrounds.

They once held so much determination within them to bring themselves outside to the backyard, their eyes then boring into the nothingness that was the darkness of toolshed.

Before Frisk could continue on their journey, a hand wrapped around their forearm to calmly pull them back.

Frisk hadn’t been in this home of theirs very long, but they knew that hand belonged to their new foster mother. The woman sighed out before crouching down to their eye level. They didn’t catch all that she was rambling on about, but they were able to catch some of it. How their almost journey could have been “Very dangerous, Frisk!” and “Not a place for little kids”. Despite the fact they were technically being scolded, they didn’t feel much guilt about the action of exploring such a dangerous area. More so guilt in worrying their newest foster mother.

“Sorry mommy”, came out of their mouth before they were able to catch it and bring it back.

The woman simply stared at their eyes, as if she was searching for something, expression changing as the look on her face turned into a sad one. One that looked guilt-ridden and spoiled. One that looked as if she realized she didn’t like the food she ordered as much as she thought she would have.

Oh. Frisk had realized that they shouldn’t have said that.

They really shouldn’t have called her the word.

Frisk knows that they felt there were two categories of names earlier, but perhaps there were actually three categories. The third type of name being; the name that ignores and turns away from your sight.

They stayed with that foster family for two weeks and a half before being transferred to another home.

* * *

It was a total accident.

They really didn’t mean to slip up the way they did, but…

The word just escaped them before much else could occur.

They were sitting down in their seat along with their classmates with their notebooks in front when it happened. The entire class was, as expected, being this was the start of the day after all. The start of their routine.

A normal school day.

Mrs. Robin had been walking down through the rows of desks to look down at the chicken scratch writing of each student. It was a homework check today.

To be honest, Frisk was actually feeling quite proud of themselves at that moment, excited hands unable to stop their palms from lightly pattering the vandalized desk before them, feet swinging back and forth underneath them as this occurred.

Frisk not only managed to actually answer all of the homework questions that they were given for the first time in a while, but they managed to complete all of it despite all the distractions and noises at home! Their ‘new foster home of the month’, as they liked to nickname it, was quite the rowdy and over-crowded home. And it… was definitely not housing the most considerate people, nor the nicest. Frisk found that it was alright though, as they definitely lived in worse conditions before.

Knowing that they would be avoiding the concerned glance of the teacher that often came with the woman when looking at them, must have been what filled them with determination to finish through their notebook yesterday.

As Mrs. Robin stopped before them, the child stilled in their seat. Silence filled the room as she examined through their scribbled down numbers.

With a smile, she uncapped her pen and wrote down an encircled 10/10 in red ink.

“Good job, Frisk!”

They were simply beaming with pride.

Too much pride must have filled them though, as before the child could about it, they spoke too. Something they didn’t often do. “Thanks, Mom!-” When the word escapes. You know, The Word, their eyes widened as they stared down at the wooden desk before them. Attempting to ignore the snickers and giggles that came out of their tablemates beside them and behind them.

Their cheeks darkened as their cheeks heated up… Frisk was so entirely embarrassed.

Mrs. Robin appeared to be taken aback but wasn’t upset by any means. If anything, she took amusement from such a silly mistake, giving Frisk a sympathetic smile as she waved it off with a small chuckle before focusing on the child to their right.

Frisk knows that it isn’t the teacher’s fault that the word didn’t fit her.

* * *

Toriel wasn’t a human. Neither was the literal talking flower they met not long ago, but it was what the little human noticed straight away during their short time here.

They don’t exactly know why but…the sight of a soft-looking goat that addressed them as “My Child” continuously felt incredibly comforting. The same goat woman being the one to save them from the wrath of the ‘friendliness pellets’ just minutes earlier. They couldn’t help but stare up at this woman with an awestruck stare as their boots slapped against the cobbled ground underneath them. Following after Toriel.

Frisk was, understandably, still very confused from when they had first awoken in the golden flower bed today. Last of their memories being the feeling of their body plummeting down into darkness.

How long ago was their fall anyway?

They’re wondering how they’re even alive.

Perhaps the flowers broke their fall?

Nevertheless, that wasn’t what Frisk was majorly focusing on right now. They were more focused on the instructions given to them by the nurturing goat woman, the large brick-like shape of the device they were gifted, and Toriel’s furry hand- paw?- gently ruffling their messy strands of brown hair, before smoothing their hair out down to look somewhat more presentable.

Her small act of affection made them resist the urge to reach up at her hand with their own smaller ones to force it back upon their head again.

As she exited the room, Frisk almost felt bad about the fact that they were definitely not going to be able to stay in one spot for as long as she would like them to. Their curiosity always being the worst flaw of their character.

Their curiosity also soon turned out to be the reason why they hadn’t yet left. The block-shaped cell phone now plastered to their right ear as they dialed the only available number in the device. They wanted to speak to Toriel again on the phone before they continued down the pathway, it seemed.

It was quite a childish game they were playing then. Calling her to ask a question, before hanging up the phone, only to call her once again.

No matter how many times they called for another one of her greetings, she did not sound as if she minded much of the child’s goofing around. They believe they can even catch the hints of amusement in her voice, causing them to only further call her again. Attempting not to giggle into the receiver as they did so.

As Frisk was beginning to grow tired of the back and forth repetitive phone calls they made, they had another thought develop within their young mind. That thought then being unable to be ignored now that it has been remotely considered.

They’re debating if they should say it. The word.

It isn’t like the world would cease to exist if they let it slip. Right? Probably.

Not wanting to overthink their action, especially with the monster on the line still awaiting the little human’s voice, Frisk seemed to have simply gone for it. The word itching out of their throat and now lingering in the ruins air.

“Huh? Did you just call me… “Mom” ?”

Did the word make her sad? Did the word make her laugh?

“Well… I suppose… Would that make you happy? To call me… mother?”

They must have made her sad. The second person to be sad from hearing them say the word. Was it the fact that they said it? Was it the fact it was them? Maybe the word wasn’t one to be used by them, ever. Maybe-

“Well then, call me whatever you like!”

Click.

...

Perhaps it was the lack of parental figures in their short life, perhaps it was the fact they were still a young child of all things, but something about this phone call… brought a smile to their face and determination within their flickering soul.

Frisk can count the number of times they said the word on two hands.

Frisk can count the people they called the word on one hand.

They actually didn’t say the word out loud as much as it seemed- they didn’t speak often enough in the first place, after all. But when their throat pushed out the three-lettered word, sounding so light and unused and new, their heart had the tugging feeling that this time… this time... the word would be able to stick.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not new to the site AO3, but I am new to having an account, writing fanfiction, and uploading. So if any formatting, tagging, or grammar/spelling issues are found, please don't shy away from telling me ^^'. I always appreciate constructive criticism as well :)\
> 
> aight that's all n have a good day all!


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